


Carromancy

by Kharnesh



Series: Lovelace & Bane [6]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe, Atlantis, B'nai B'rith Camp, Baha'i, Betal Leaf, Candles, Canon Jewish Character, Christianity, Divination, Families of Choice, Folklore, Frangipani - Freeform, Islam, Jewish Character, Judaism, Le Rapt D'Europe, Love, Lovelace - Freeform, Magic Simon Lewis, Memories, Mesopotamia, Mythology - Freeform, Mythology References, Name Changes, Names, Nicknames, Plato's Cave, Purple, Religion, Religious Content, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Riddles, Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery, Seven-Branched Sword, Shadowhunters - Freeform, Shinto, Simon Lovelace - Freeform, Sparta - Freeform, Symbolism, Tallit, Thistle - Freeform, Torah, Understanding, Wax, allegory of the cave, candle wax, numbers, plato - Freeform, zen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 16:21:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11108280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kharnesh/pseuds/Kharnesh
Summary: Carromancy - The art of divination through the use of wax.Simon names himself.





	Carromancy

Magnus had offered to move _The Rape of Europa_ into either Simon’s room or the family room, but Simon had declined. He liked to sit on his loveseat in the overly posh living room and look at her. The idea of stuffing her into a private room, away from the eyes of visitors, did not sit well with Simon. After everything she had been through, she deserved to be seen and thought about and appreciated.

Simon took a deep breath and held it in. 

He was going to be thirteen soon. He would be a man in Jewish tradition. He would have a bar mitzvah, which Magnus had already begun to plan, and he would read from the Torah, and he would wear the tallit he knew his grandfather had sent Magnus and was currently hidden under his bed, waiting for the ceremony. 

He let his breath go, whistling out through his nose. 

Simon didn’t go to a synagogue regularly. He had attended B’nai B’rith Camp every summer since coming to live with Magnus, but he did not consider himself a part of Brooklyn's Jewish community. Other than the rabbi Magnus had hired, Simon would be the only Jewish person in attendance at the ceremony. It hadn’t bothered him as much as he knew it should have. 

Simon stood up from his seat and walked to the other side of the room. There were new candle sconces on the walls. They were Magnus’ attempt at spicing up the atmosphere of the living area. He said they made the room look more like it belonged to a High Warlock. Simon thought they were a fire hazard. 

There was a purple candle burning on the sconce in front of Simon. It was a light thistle and scented with frangipani. 

Simon took another deep breath, letting the heady floral scent cloud his lungs. 

It was a hand-dipped candle that stood as tall as his forearm, and its oil content was low. It melted slowly, needing a strong flame to set it soft, and the wax dripped down its sides almost languidly. 

Simon stepped closer until the sconce was above his head. He reached up and pushed the candle, tipping it. The base stayed firmly attached to the sconce, but the flame hovered in open air. Simon took a step to the side, tilted his head up, and opened his eyes wide below it. 

The wax dripped, straight from flame to forehead. 

Drip. 

Fifteen years old was the age of maturity in the Baha’i faith. Youths would be expected to begin praying and fasting as the other adults of their faith did. 

Drip. 

Fourteen years old, give or take, was the age of maturity in the Shinto faith. Youths would be allowed to begin wearing the clothing and hairstyles of adults, after visiting the temple of their patron deity. 

Drip. 

Seven years old was the age of maturity in the city-state of Sparta. Young boys would be taken to live in the barracks in order to begin their training in the way of the warrior. 

Drip. 

In just a few months, it would be seven years since Magnus took in Simon. 

Drip. 

Christianity had its seven days of creation, and Judaism had its seven days of mourning. There were seven sins, seven virtues, seven chakras, and a name was given on the seventh day of a Muslim child’s life. There were seven gateways traversed by Inanna on her descent to the underworld. Seven islands made up the empire of Atlantis, and seven celestial bodies were visible to the naked eye. The Seven-Branched Sword of Yamato swung through them all, seven upon seven upon seven. 

Drip. 

The wax burned against the soft skin of Simon’s forehead. It burned him red and raw, and he wanted to cry out. He wanted to step out from under the flame, but the Seven-Branched Sword cleaved through him, cutting him into seven pieces, each more beautiful and perfect than the last. 

Drip. 

Magnus’ hands came into view. One pushed the thistle candle back to its appropriate angle, and the other cradled Simon’s face. 

“Dewdrop,” he said softly “this isn’t the fancy wax that turns into massage oil.” 

Simon smiled as he watched Magnus stack his pieces, one atop the other, until he was a seven-tiered boy. They locked together like toy bricks, and he was whole. He was seven parts a perfect creature. 

“You named yourself,” he stated. 

Magnus smiled back at him. “I did.” 

Simon touched the hardening wax with the pad of his finger. He traced the circumferences of the drops, feeling were the wax smoothed into his skin, but he couldn’t find an edge. There was no separation of him from the wax. They had been added together, one plus one, just like his seven parts. Simon looked at Magnus. Just like many things. 

Simon took Magnus’ hand from his cheek and put on his forehead. He wanted Magnus to feel it, the wholeness. Magnus didn’t understand, but he still smoothed his fingers over the wax. 

Simon’s smile didn’t dim. His parents were dead and no betel leaf covered his ear, but he still spoke. “My name is Lovelace.” 

“That’s a very Shadowhunter name.” Magnus said. He arched his eyebrow questioningly. 

“It is a Shadowhunter name, but,” Simon rolled his eyes. “they don’t hold a monopoly on compound names.” 

Magnus laughed at that and followed when Simon returned to his seat in front of Europa. They settled into the cushions, but turned to face each other instead of the painting. 

Simon looked at Magnus. He saw the ripped pieces of Magnus’ heart rattling around his ribcage and the fire that burned through his past and present, leaving memories and thoughts covered in ash and soot. He saw beyond the cave and the light and the doorway. He saw the beasts that made his shadows, and he saw him. Simon saw Magnus. 

“What does one plus one equal?” Simon asked, twisting the end like a riddle, not a question. 

Magnus opened his mouth to answer but stopped. He looked at Simon. Magnus looked at him, but he couldn’t see Simon’s seven cleaved pieces or the absence of space between wax and skin. He saw shadows on a cave wall, dancing in distorted shapes, but it didn’t matter. Magnus saw Simon. 

“Tell me,” he entreated. 

Simon took Magnus’ hand in his own, reveling in the absence of space between skin and skin. 

“One.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my favorite piece. I enjoyed writing it more than I have enjoyed any other writing project of mine. I hope it speaks to you the way it does to me.
> 
> Special thanks to my mother for being my beta on this piece.


End file.
